
Class 

Book 

fopyiigM . 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Songs 
From the Sandhills 



BY 

MEADE SEAWELL 



SAULSBURY PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BALTIMORE, MD. 






Copyright, 1919, 
By Meade Seawell 



OCI -7 / 9/3 



J. F. TAPLEY CO, 
NEW YORK 



©CI.A535188 



DEDICATED 

TO 
MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Sandhills 7 

Ole Life 9 

A Sandhill Doctrine 11 

Heaven 12 

At the Slaughter 14 

Consolation 15 

That Ole Black Mare 16 

There's Some Good 'Scuse fer Everything .... IT 

A Teachin' 18 

That Yaller Pup o' Ourn 19 

The Settin' Up 21 

'Tain't Like It Uster Be 23 

Revenge 25 

Sleep Songs 26 

That Cur'ous Feelin' 27 

Moonlight 28 

Cheer 29 

Fools 30 

The Plowman's Night 32 

October Days 33 

At Sunset 34 

The Hunter 35 

His Cabin 36 

Jist er Settin' Still 37 

Them's Pretty Words 39 

Bill Johnny 42 

Now 43 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

This Worl' Is Good Ernough 44 

In 1916 45 

Pour La France 46 

The Overtones 47 

My Friend 49 

Little Things 51 

To-day 52 

A Hymn ' 53 

A Tribute 54 

There Ain't no Use 55 

Human Nature 56 

A Listenin' in the Still 57 

America Awakes to Arms 58 

A Prayer 60 

A Wish 61 

If 62 

Miss Nancy's Flower Garden 63 

You 64 

Hers 65 

Just a Missin' You 66 

A Song 68 

A Winter's Twilight 69 

Contentment 70 

I Love the World 71 

To You 72 



THE SANDHILLS 

God made these hills, these long leaf pines, 
These heavy gums, these oaks time-worn, 
These bottom lands, these fertile lines, 
These fields fer wheat, and these fer corn, 
These lowlands rich where pigs of ours 
Git fat frum off'n the swampy loam, 
These hillsides green fer lazy cows, 
These mellow grounds fer double plows, 
These sweet-briar blooms and wild-wood flow'rs 
God made these hills, a heav'n called home. 

God made these folks, these honest folks, 
These jolly hearts as good as gold, 
These women full o' fun and jokes, 
These men so darin', big, and bold, 
These homes each one er meetin' groun' 
"Ter balance all and back ergain," 
These barns jist stuffed ter bustin' out, 
These guineas fat and gobblers stout, 
These dev'lish yearlin's spry and brown : 
God made these folks, these honest men. 



God made the heav'n that's stretched above, 
The land beyond the sky and sun. 
God made the heav'n frum out His love, 
And thought His wond'rous work all done; 
But heav'n, His wond'rous love so grand, 
Frum out the sky, the clouded blue, 
Drops down to earth and makes anew 
A heav'n called home, a fertile place, 
With honest folks and hills of sand. 



OLE LIFE 

Ole life is jist one mixture shore! 

The more we live the more we learn ; 
An' more we take ter good, the more 

Ole hell itself will fiercer burn. 
We's mixed up so that bein' good 

Jist makes us worse along some lines, 
An' bein' worse, if worse we could, 

The better gits our good designs. 

I's lived right much these sixty year, 

An' farmin's been my only trade, 
I sees the things that's livin' here 

Jist like the way the Lord has made. 
The bad in part may be the best, 

An' all the good's jist mixed with bad; 
Fer look, with health there comes a pest : 

The more we've bloomed, more thorns we've had. 

An' too much good makes worser still 

Fer bad that's here an' meant ter grow, 
Jist like potash fer things we till, 

Too strong burns up the seeds we sow. 
Jist like the flow'rs an' stagnant pools, 

Ter take what's bad the other dies; 
An' if it weren't fer slime an' fools, 

There'd be less blooms an' none that's wise. 



So as fer me I takes this part, 

Fer bad's jist good that's gone astray, 
I never tries ter make a start 

Ter dodge the bad that comes my way; 
Fer dodgin' bad, we're dodgin' good, 

An' missin' pain we misses joy, 
An' I'd not dodge, if dodge I could, 

Fer dodgin' kills each good employ. 



10 



A SANDHILL DOCTRINE 

J 1ST all the worl's a field, my friend, 

A fertile spot of flow'rs an' weeds. 
All life's the ground that each raus' tend, 

Where we mus' plant an' till our seeds. 
All time's a season made ter sow, 

Ter till an' cultivate this earth, 
An opportunity ter grow 

The crops that yield the greatest, worth. 

An' all of livin's but the soil 

Wherein we plant ourselves an' die, 
Where Ave mus' sow our lives in toil 

Jist as we sow the grains of rye. 
Jist like the little grain of corn, 

"The mother to the full-grown ear," 
Mus' die that others may be born, 

So we give up our livin' here. 

An' what is meant fer you, my friend, 

Is jist ter start an' take each day, 
Ter plant an' cultivate an' spend 

Your time on seeds that bring you pay ; 
Fer as about the plants, the earth 

Prepares them fer their earthly span, 
So life, the ground that gives us birth, 

Is round about the soul of man. 



11 



HEAVEN 

There mus' be heaven fer everything, 
Or else this sinful worl' ain't fair, 

Fer crows they crow an' birds they sing 
An' frogs they croak an' give their share 

Ter make this place er pleasant one, 

An' shorely death don't end their fun. 

We had er yearlin' oncet las' year 

That wabbled with the staggers blind. 

An' didn't look like nothin' here 
Fer it was ever soft er kind; 

An' I jist think it's 'most er sin, 

If heaven don't take that heifer in. 

An' oncet we had a shepherd pup, 

A better dog you'd never find. 
He'd run an' fetch the yearlin's up, 

An' then o' nights the house he'd mind ; 
An' shore's you're born great heaven won't miss 
Ter take in dogs that's lived like this. 

An' cats, oh, yes, I know they say 

They bees jist back an' forth frum hell; 

But when you watch the kittens play 
An' hear 'em meow an' purr er spell. 

You can't but think in heaven's space 

The kittens shore mus' have er place. 



12 



An' I jist think it's this erway, 

Jist all the worl' is meant fer jokes, 

An' all these things make night an' day 
Lots happier fer us human folks. 

An' shore's you're born, it ain't quite fair, 

If man takes all the room up there. 



13 



AT THE SLAUGHTER 

Oh, yes, I hurt you then, 



Jist like I got no sense ! 
Now git there in yer pen 

While I go steady on the fence. 
Oh, here, now, quit that squealin,' 

You pugnose rascal you, 
I alius had er feelin' 

That's what you's gonna do. 
You seems ter know er feller's heart 

Ain't made of stuff like brick, 
Fer everytime I makes er start 

Ter fire it seems ter turn me sick. 
But here, now, stop that wigglin', 

Jist fix yerself — it's time ter go; 
Them girls is up there gigglin' 

Jist cause I'm chicken-hearted so. 
But somehow they can't understand 

Jist how you've been my pard, 
Ner how you've et frum out'n my hand, 

Ner how ter kill you would go hard. 
You devil, standin' there so still, 

Here take these taters an' 'gin ter root; 
Them girls can say jist what they will, 

But one thing shore I jist can't shoot. 



14 



CONSOLATION 

Ole Handy Kid to prison went 
Because he'd eaten chicken pie, 

An' 'cause his coins he never meant 
That its ingredients should buy. 

He knew always jist how ter raise 
The tender pullets he could spy. 

The Judge decided 'twould be best, 

An' thought 'twould make Ole Handy wail 

To lock him hard an' steady lest 
He'd break the prison's iron rail ; 

But Handy smiled quite reconciled, 
"Aw, Paul an' Silas wuz in jail!" 



15 



THAT OLE BLACK MARE 

She hauls my wood, she plows my fields, 

She carries me ter meetin', 
An' she's the one that brings the yields 

That furnish all my eatin' ; 
An' shore's you're born in heav'n's a share 
Allotted to that ole black mare. 

I feeds her well on richest fares, 

I tells her all my feelings, 
Fer she's the one that alius shares 

My worst an' better dealings ; 
An' ever night I prays er pray'r, 
"God bless that faithful, ole black mare." 



16 



THERE'S SOME GOOD 'SCUSE FER 
EVERYTHING 

There's some good 'scuse fer everything; 

Er reason why er bird will sing ; 

Some reason why er fish will bite; 

Er reason why the brave will fight ; 

Er 'scuse fer fools, er cause fer schools ; 

Er purpose fer our common laws ; 

An' even briers here have some good cause. 

There's some good 'scuse fer rattlesnakes ; 

An' some good reason fer earthquakes ; 

Er 'scuse fer lice, er cause fer mice ; 

Er reason fer er hawk with claws. 

But tell me, please, if you can see, 

What good the skeeter's meant ter be? 

It seems to me 'twas jist er sin 

When Noah let that feller in. 

I's got no time fer pest like these, 

Whatever their good purpose bees. 



17 



A TEACHIN' 

I uster say that teachin' 

Was the durndest job of all! 
The salary weren't fer-reachin' 

'Twas so goldarn small! 
The younguns they was bad ernough 

Ter run er sane man wild, 
An' pappys they sometimes got rough 

Ter make you spoil their child; 
An' oncet I told the clerk o' court, 

When fellers broke the county rules, 
"Don't make 'em swing the pick fer sport, 

But put 'em out ter teachin' schools." 

But now I say that callin' 

Is the grandest job of man; 
It keeps the worl' from stallin', 

An' it makes it do the best it can. 
Of course, the doctors all are great 

Who heal our sufferin' sick, 
An' lawyers too who guard the state 

An' free men frum the pick, 
An' ministers an' farmers each, 

The worl' on them seems laid; 
But greatest yet those fools who teach, 

Who've learnt 'em all their trade. 



18 



THAT YALLER PUP O' OURN 

I fetched him back one day frum town, 

The day I got my waggin tire; 
He's nothin' but er yaller houn'; 

But he shore got the eye o' fire. 
An' Abe, my little boy, done foun' 
Them other dogs er natchel sight, 
When yaller pup sets in his bite. 

He shore ain't much fer beauty built, 
Jist years, four legs, a yaller streak; 

But he can howl with head atilt. 

An' Abe has learnt him how ter speak. 

An' he's no dog ter hide his guilt, 

His tail jist drops an' 'f esses up, 

That dirty, little, }^aller pup ! 

An' when I's noddin' in the do', 

He'll lie erbout an' snap an' scratch, 
Then tote my shoe ter some fer row 

'Way down ercrosst the tater patch; 
An' when I slips up on him slow, 
He'll sorter snort an' sneeze an' cough, 
Then drop his tail an' totter off. 



19 



But Abe has learnt him lots er tricks, 
Jist how ter be a man an' fight; 

An', when he gits his breakfast mix' 

He makes him speak an' stan' up right. 

An' then he'll run an' fetch you sticks 

You throwed him down ercrosst the lot, 

That yaller pup o' ourn we got. 



20 



THE SETTIN' UP 

Bear Creek bend, 
Who suffered long with heart's disease, 

Made ready for his weary end, 

And, stretchin' out his feeble knees 

Along 'bout day, give up and died, 

Ole Virgil of the Baptist pride. 

They sent for mournin' all erroun' 
And asked the niggers ter wear black, 

While Ike, his son, went off ter town 
Ter fetch a handsome coffin back. 

I watched the mourners come and go 

And heared their mournin' s loud and low. 

But 'way that night down through my fields 
The darndest fuss I ever heared, 

When all them niggers on their heels 
Frum out the settin' up had cleared; 

Fer Vergil, hoisted frum his bed, 

"The water pail," had faintly said. 

And Ike, who'd fetched the coffin back. 
Broke out slap through the window glass, 

With ropes a-trailin' in his track 
Tore up 'most all my grazin' grass, 

Until they caught some light'ood knot 

And all his racin' aims upsot. 



21 



The parson, lyin' on the groun' 

Too weak ter run, was prayin' loud, 

"O, Lawd, do sen' some angel down 
An' save dis sinful crowd; 

Fer dey'll go straight ter fiery hell, 

If dat ole nigger do git well." 

Then frum the place where Ikey fell, 
There was a mournful soundin' cry, 

While frum the field there come a yell, 
"Next time dat ole dead nigger die 

An' askes fer the water cup, 

He'll shorely do his settin' up." 



22 



'TAIN'T LIKE IT USTER BE 

'Tain't like it uster be when I was comin' on, 
Them good ole days is done an' gone. 

Why Sundays now looks like court-week, 

The sort we uster have o'er town, 
When all the folks frum up the peak 

Come here ter swop their stock erroun\ 
Tain't still like Sunday uster be. 

When Church was done, you'd rest then some, 
An' set all day an' never see 

Nobody passin' to ner frum. 

An' uster I'd go callin' when 

I'd finished all my layin' by. 
We had ter walk ter see 'em then 

An' mine, she never lived so nigh. 
I'd hear her playin' some ole hymn 

Long 'fore I'd reached the short-cut through ; 
An' there was where I'd git in trim 

An' pearten up a step er two. 

But them ole times is shorely changed. 

It uster rain down here er sight; 
An' if you's callin' they'd er range 

Some way fer you ter spend the night. 
We all was farmers an' so pore 

We couldn't plant good crops nowhere, 
But we wus alius happy, shore, 

To give to others an' to share. 
23 



Our house where we then uster live 

You'd see slap through the ole plank floor, 
You couldn't tell what time 'twould give; 

An' cats could come in 'neath the door. 
But we was jolly folks, an' prayed 

An' sang o' nights when work was done ; 
An' me an' Johnnie alius played 

Our harps while Jimmy clogged fer fun. 

But them ole times is done an' gone, 

'Tain't like it uster be when I was comin' on. 



24 



REVENGE 

That ole gray mule is sich a fool, 

He'll go ter sleep on level groun' ; 

An' beat, well wear yerself plum down 

An' he'll not move, not nary peg. 

Or twist his tail an' kick his leg 

He's gonna sleep his sleep slap through 

No matter what you try ter do. 

Then when he wakes, he starts an' shakes 

An' moves erlong so lazj^-like an' slow 

Yer think he's done fergot the way ter go. 

So now I says, though Jeremiah's his name, 

I'll call him PokeyhonteiS jist fer shame. 



25 



SLEEP SONGS 

O let me sleep beneath the trees, 

Beneath the silver littered sky, 
Where I can feel the cooling breeze 

An' hear the whippoorwill's lone cry ; 
An' let me sleep, sleep on till day, 
Till all old cares are smoothed away. 

O let me sleep when noontime comes 

Beneath the 'simmon's spreading shade, 

Where all the bees in dull an' drowsy hums 
Keep up their steady honey raid; 

An' let me sleep, sleep on, I pray, 

Until the sunshine slants across the way. 

O let me sleep up in the loft 

When rain upon the roof beats down ; 
Dull rain an' dreary too an' soft 

An' nothing but a raining sound; 
An' let me sleep, sleep on, I say, 
Till all the rain has pasesd away. 

O let me sleep beneath the pines 

On some sandhill near by, 
Where fragrant honeysuckle twines 

An' quiet stars shine in the sky; 
There let me sleep, sleep on beneath that groun' 
Above the racket of the little town. 



26 



THAT CUR'OUS FEELIN' 

When the sun gits back ter shinin' 

Like ter make this ole earth hot, 
An' the kittens 'gins ter whinin' 

As they pick er sunny spot ; 
When the birds gits back ter singin' 

Where the buds is bustin' out; 
When it's time fer carpet flingin' 

An' my wife's er dustin' 'bout; 
When the yearlin's gits ter kickin' 

Dust up in the pasture lane, 
An' the biddies 'gins ter pickin' 

Fer ter find the fresh sown grain; 
'Tis then I moves my place of settin' 

Ter the open 'neath the trees ; 
Jist ter watch the earth er hettin' 

An' ter smell the flower breeze; 
Fer then like pigs that's alius squealin' 

Jist ter be jist where they ain't, 
There's 'round my heart that cur'ous feelin' 

Jist ter do jist what I cain't. 



27 



MOONLIGHT 

With nary soun' ter break the spell 

Except a whippo'will's faint song; 
While on the breeze the fragrant smell 

Of woodsy flow'rs blows erlong ; 
With nary soul erroun' ter hear 

Jist what you're tryin' hard ter say, 
When yer ole heart's jist twisted queer 

An' all yer words don't fit no way, 
With nary thing ter stop ner ditch 

Yer plans ter seal yer bargain tight, 
With her an' flow'rs an' all sich — 

Well then, that there's moonlight! 



28 



CHEER 

'Tis hard ter fight an' keep jist right 

When all the world's agin yer force ; 
But's jist er sin ter give slap in 

An' let the devil have his course. 
An' brave's the man who holds his stan' 

An' fights his battle through, 
'Tis holy shame ter stop the game 

Jist 'cause the world's the least bit blue. 
An' say, Ole Top, 
No use ter fret 
Ner whine an' stop, 
Yer'll git there yet! 

'Tis hard ter win an' sometimes grin 

When no one seems ter be yer friend. 
But ho! fer pluck that conquers luck, 

That keeps on fightin' till the end. 
The man is great who wars with fate, 

Success his destiny insures ; 
The greatest of all who swallows the gall, 
The man that alius endures ! 
An' say, Ole Sport, 

Don't be upset, 
Yer'll find yer fort, 
Yer'll git there yet! 



FOOLS 

There's some folks here that jist despise 

Er man that's got no sense ; 
Er man that never up an' tries 

An' makes no 'scuse, ner half pretense; 
But as fer me, I speaks his praise, 
An' may the Lord bless all his days. 

One time there was a man down here 
Whose stables helt the finest breed ; 

He told us folks he had no fear, 
"Ter trust folks" was his creed. 

Well some sharp thief got all his stock, 

So now we've learnt ter use the lock. 

An' oncet there was er travelin' man 
Who et too much, then up an' died, 

Jist why, he couldn't understan', 
He weren't er bigger man inside ; 

But, though he went frum here perplexed, 

Frum him we've learnt the temperance text. 

An' oncet there was er light-head sport 
Who stopped upon the railroad track; 

Well now he's reached some heav'nly port, 
Out where he never will come back; 

An' frum his silly act we find 

We sees the "Stop, Look, Listen" sign. 



30 



So now you see how much they teach, 
These foolish men what's got no sense; 

If 'tweren't fer them we'd never reach 
Success, ner have no self-defense. 

We'd have no farms, ner church, ner schools, 

What would we do without the fools? 



31 



THE PLOWMAN'S NIGHT 

The harvest moon is climbin' high, 

Is creepin' o'er the hill ; 
This distant dale sends back the cry 

Of one lone whippoorwill ; 
The night breeze sighs sweet lullabies, 

An' earth is soft an' still. 

I sit alone within my den, 

A-weary from the day; 
I watch the shadows in the glen 

An' see the fireflies play ; 
I hear faint sounds of restless hounds 

O'er hills across the way. 

I hear the rustlin' of the corn 
That sways within the breeze ; 

Where roses wild the vales adorn 
I sip the fragrance rare of these; 

An' here I pray at end of day 
In peace among the trees. 



32 



OCTOBER DAYS 

Oh, now, they're dear October days, 
And now the wooded sweet by-ways 

Are roofed with red and gold; 
A bob-white to his mate is calling 
Where the sweet-gum leaves are falling 
And a lazy lizard's sprawling 

In the light that's growing cold, 
Down in Carolina, 

Back in Carthage on the ridge. 

Oh, now, 'tis harvest of the year ; 
We stop to shuck the yellow ear; 

We fill our cribs up to the jam. 
With every wind the leaves go whirling 
While from the kitchen stoves unfurling 
Where a pale blue smoke is curling 

Comes the smell of frying ham, 
Down in Carolina, 

Back in Carthage on the ridge. 

And, oh, the dear October days 
And now the wooded sweet by-ways 

Are whispering soft their tale, 
"Come you, if 'chance you like it, 
And 'neath my autumn arbor hike it 
Where only gentle winds now strike it 

Before I'm whipped by winter's gale," 
Down in Carolina, 

Back in Carthage on the ridge. 
33 



AT SUNSET 

It's just my delight at the coming of night, 
When the work of the day is all done, 

To pull from the shed to the river's broad bed 
And there watch the last rays of the sun. 

The soft quiet gleam on the lazy stream, 
And the clouds that are fringed with blood ; 

'Neath the pearl-gray haze the scarlet blaze 
And the glorious varying flood. 

The lavender sky and the cloud-banks high ; 

The deep shadows of distant trees ; 
The dancing spark that lights my barque; 

That is tossed on the stream by the breeze ! 

The earth tired and still as it's wrapped in the thrill 
And in weariness soothed by the calm to rest ; 

While the radiant glow, like a flaming bow, 
Dies slowly away in the west! 

Then ends too soon. The rising moon, 
Full-grown, descends a mellowy light. 

The sun-flame fades in deepening shades 

And is lost in the blue of the coming night. 



34 



THE HUNTER 

A restless body, moving quick, 
With towsled hair that's black and thick, 
With eyes that glisten, gleam like fire 
Reflected from some chapel spire, 

With shoulder broad and ruddy cheek, 
Comes passed you o'er the withered mead 
Upon his fiery snorting steed, 

That bounds the fence and strides the creek. 

Up hill, down dale, you see him ride, 
O'er plains you hear his clicking stride. 
The snow-clad forest far resounds 
His roaring gun and yelping hounds, 

When winter comes and autumn wanes. 
When howling north winds biting blow 
And earth is bleak and chill, you know 

Within the wood the hunter reigns. 



35 



HIS CABIN 

O little room with dingy walls, 

Where pots in dirty heaps are piled ; 
Your shelves defaced with penknife scrawls, 

Your door with horns of antlers wild; 
Your floor besplotched with stains of blood, 

And rags your windows illy groom; 
Where sacks fill in for missin' mud, 

O little room ! O little room ! 

But little room with penknife scrawls, 

A hunter trusts to you his best. 
A hunter's spoils bedeck your walls; 

You know his sighs, each joy, each jest. 
Your battered shelves, a holy shrine 

That would his lonely heart illume, 
That hold his prints, "The Mother Mine." 

O little room ! O little room ! 



3C 



JIST ER SETTIN' STILL 

I figures frum er farmer's p'int, 

That is the way they view ; 
There's some things here that's loose of j'int, 

Or else there's some that's lost er screw. 
I farms fer livin' an' I sees 

The things come up I till. 
I counts er things fer what it bees ; 
Yer 'an do er sight more reasonin' 
Jist er settin' still. 

The preachers go about er-rantin', 
An' they say the devil's like er lion, 

That prowls erroun' er-roarin', pantin' 
Jist ter glean the fields of Zion. 

Well that religion jist won't go; 
It contradicts the right of will. 

These here preachers best go slow, 

Yer 'an do er sight more mendin' 
Jist er settin' still. 

The doctors go er-doct'rin' 'round: 

We gotta wash, can't spit jist whar yer please, 
An' drinkin' frum another's .pail they found 

Is shore ter start er plague disease. 
Well that there teachin' may suit some 

That's feared of all the devil's ill ; 
But when the rheumatisms come, 
Yer git erlong er durn sight better 
Jist er settin' still. 
37 



Methuslah never went up young 

An' never knowed no doctor's way; 
But now they're picked when ain't nigh sprung 

An' hilled like taters in the clay. 
When them ole prophets calmly chewed their cud, 

They never had no rhumatiz ner fever's chill. 
This here modern mess stands 'gainst the reason, bud, 
Yer 'an do er sight more livin' 
Jist er settin' still. 



38 



THEM'S PRETTY WORDS 

"They did not die in vain." 
"They did not die in vain." 
Them's pretty words, Matilda, 
Them's pretty words. 

I recollect how mother 

Uster say 'em to us boys, 
When we'd be playin' 'round together, 

Settin' near with all our toys. 
I seems to see her now, Matilda, 

An' her soft face growin' pale ; 
While all us boys begin our beggin' 

Fer another story tale. 
I seems to see her eyes a-fillin' 

As she sets before the fire; 
Beginnin' then her story tellin' 

Of that man who oncet was Squire, 
Of my old Dad who went to battle 

When we had that Yankee fight. 

Of how she watched him go, a-wavin' 
Back till he was out o' sight. 

An' how it happened late one evenin', 
Fer the soldiers knowed it best 

To tell my Mother of that bullet 

That had rammed my Daddy's breast. 



39 



I seems to see her now, Matilda, 
Sobbin' as she stops a sigh, 

An' starts to tell us boys of Daddy, 
How they brung him home to die. 

"They did not die in vain," Matilda, 
"They did not die in vain." 
Them's pretty words. 
Them's pretty words. 

They come an' tuck him off, Matilda 9 

Abe, my boy, my baby, Abe, my son. 
They tuck him off acrost the ocean, 

An' they've fixed him with a gun. 
They put him in a uniform 

An' learnt him how to fight ; 
An' his old Daddy stood a-watchin' 

When he went away that night. 
An' now it seems I am so lonely 

Since he's gone so far away ; 
But when I saw him bravely drillin' 

'Peared I couldn't ask him stay. 
I hate a man that's feared o' fightin', 

An' a cow'rd I can't abide ; 
Though when he told me he was goin' 

My old heart jist broke inside. 
He is the last of all the family, 

Four there was a-countin' all. 
The girls is way off there an' married, 

An' his Mother died last fall. 



40 



So somehow now I'm sad, Matilda, 

An' my life's jist all undone; 
I sets here late o' nights a-prayin' 

God to keep him, Abe, my baby Abe, my son. 

"They did not die in vain." 
"They did not die in vain." 
Them's pretty words, Matilda, 
Them's pretty words. 



41 



BILL JOHNNY 

That Bill Johnny hails frum Dixie 

An' he's sprung frum fightin' stock; 
An' when he gits ter Germany, 

He'll shorely give them Huns er shock. 
They calls him Billie Yankee, 

But he comes frum Dixie jist the same; 
An' it don't make no difference 

Ter Johnny what they calls his name. 
He ain't no captain ner a officer, 

But where them Stars an' Stripes unfurl, 
He's proud ter be a real buck private 

In the grandest army of the worl'. 



42 



NOW 

They've gone an' tuck 'em frum here, 

The lazy an' the good as well, 
An' shore's you're born you feels plum queer 

When you can stop ter think er spell. 
Some will come back, that thing's dead shore, 

But some their end you'll never know; 
An' if you never loved afore, 

Your heart now breaks fer them that go. 

You're proud, but war's done rent your pride, 

You'll do fer him all that you can, 
Fer your ole heart's jist broke inside, 

You really loves your fellowman. 
You tricked him once, you trick no more, 

But in a humble pray'r you bow ; 
An' though you never had no faith afore, 

You're lookin' up to heaven now. 



43 



THIS WORL' IS GOOD ERNOUGH 

There's some folks here that ought not care 
Ter live upon this sinful earth ; 

They worry so the whole day long 

About the worl's infernal wrong, 

They miss how much the good is worth. 

Some fault they alius find, 

Plum deaf to what is kind, 

But alius they can hear the gruff, 

Oh, pshaw ! This worl' is good ernough. 

They live in town an' ride erroun' 

In easy-goin' motor cars. 
They preach at times ter cheerful folks 
About their bouts an' jolly jokes, 

They point out all infernal scars. 
They overlook the pretty places 
An' only see the dark disgraces, 
The mud-holes, ruts, an' rough. 
Ah, poohl This worl' is good ernough. 

This worl's all right ; of course 'tain't quite 
As good as heav'n would have it be ; 

But 'tain't as bad as lands below. 

It's mixed with some frum both, an' so 
It's made fer fun an' revelry. 

It's these here fertile lands that lie 

Between the devil an' the sky: 

It's cut frum off the genteel stuff. 

Oh, yes ! This worl' is good ernough. 
44 



IN 1916 

Our fields are green with growing corn, 

Or yellow with the small grain crop ; 
Fair flow'rs our hills and yards adorn, 

While vines their luscious richness drop. 
Our orchards, bowed with fruitage rare, 

Give us their gracious, golden store ; 
And Life and Wealth are everywhere, 

America could wish no more. 

But far beyond Atlantic's flood, 

Somewhere in Europe's vast domain, 
The fields are red with human blood, 

Death feasts on every plain. 
The lands are torn with shot and shell 

And Wars advance; 
Wrecked homes, crushed hearts, a living Hell, 
"Somewhere in France." 



45 



POUR LA FRANCE 

'Tis nightfall at his home, a dugout's cave, 

Beneath shell-furrowed grounds and war-strewn 
wrecks, 

That smells of mildew damp, and dreary save 
The joking hearts that sit at games of checks. 
He, bowed in corner far alone, reflects, 

Ungirded of his mask and mighty lance, 

And, bowing, prays for France. 

'Tis day and war afresh. His fierce e}^es blurred, 
He battles in the fire and poisoned gas ; 

And from his lips the sacred pray'r is heard, 
"If it be possible, let this cup pass." 
But on relenting not amid the mass 

Of warring, smilingly he takes his chance, 

And, praying, fights for France. 

'Tis awful night. Within a shell-hole's shade, 
Beyond the glare that spreads a deadly flood, 

"My God, Thy Will be done," a pray'r is prayed. 
His wire-torn coat is stained with blood, 
While life ebbs slowly out through furrowed mud. 

With tortured eyes befixed in death's cold trance, 

He, fighting, dies for France. 



46 



THE OVERTONES 

Above the beat, the restless beat, 

Of boist'rous drums heroic; 

Above the songs of voices sweet 

By gathered crowds inspiring; 

Above the might of bugle thrill, 

Awaking souls to love and doing; 

Above the trombone's silver trill 

With courage hearts infusing; 

Above the music grand and wild, 

There comes the tread, the even tread, 

Of marching soldiers fearless. 

There comes the mem'ry of the dead, 

A thought of heroes sacred, 

There comes the mother pray'r, the vows 

Of love by sweethearts parting; 

The cheer from home, and 'neath the boughs 

With golden ringlets blowing, 

The playful prattle of a child. 

Above the shriek of ringing shell, 
Of great explosives bursting; 
Above the roar of warring hell 
With deadly fire up-leaping; 
Above the wounded's anguish cry 
With dying thirst enduring; 
With blinded eyes and broken thigh 
In muddy shell-holes bleeding; 



47 



Above the battle's thund'ring blaze, 
There comes a smile, a gentle smile 
Of peace from sacrificing; 
There comes a balm of blessing while 
Some life for friends is given ; 
There comes the pentecostal pray'r 
Unchanged by world of slaughter, 
The Calvary upraised, laid bare, 
And clear from hearts arising 
A morning hymn of praise. 



48 



MY FRIEND 

Some wander through the wooded deep 

To quell their temper's storm, 
And some drown cares in drunken sleep 

To make the old cold world seem warm. 
And some take refuge in their work 

When bitter sorrow clouds outspread; 
And some in churchyards often lurk 

To draw their solace from the dead. 
And some, when in a nervous rage, 

Or weary of the binding, working hours, 
Seek comfort in the printed page, 

Or rest in music's soothing powers. 
But I, when made 'neath temper's sway, 

Or weary of the working trend, 
Or sad when sorrow comes my way, 

Find love and cheer in you, My Friend. 

And some there are that find the good, 

The true, their better selves they know, 
Among the trees in deepest wood, 

Or in the sunset's scarlet glow. 
And some there are through starlit skies, 

The gleams that beacon from above, 
See beauties of the Paradise 

And feel the power of heaven's love. 
And some have found a high ideal 

When spurred by music's rousing might, 
In church where solemn thoughts reveal 

The beautiful and just and right. 



But I, though much I love these powers, 
And much of time I often spend 

'Neath stars, among the trees and flowers, 
Find God in your pure soul, My Friend. 



50 



LITTLE THINGS 

A little violet wild, 

Old nature's smallest child, 

That comes so soon in early spring, 
Makes beautiful the path where winter trod 
And speaks the love from out the heart of God, 

A violet, just a little thing. 

A little word unkind, 
The smallest of the mind, 

That stabs so deep and leaves a sting, 
Makes worse a world where violets dwell 
And shows the bitter deeps of hell, 

A word unkind, a little thing. 



51 



TO-DAY 

The day is fair outside. 
The earth is warm. The sun 
In splendor, lofty pride, 
Rolls o'er the gentle blue 
And melts the morning dew. 
The birds in laughter sing 
To greet each new-born thing. 
A million flow'rs have come, 
While bees in drowsy hum 
Their humble tribute pay; 
And earth anew's begun 
O'er winter's bleak decay. 



52 



A HYMN 

My Father, God, I see in each grass blade, 

In every hillside flower, 
In every sunshine and each shade 
Some providence, some force, some overruling care 

And there I know that Thou art Power. 

I see in openings blue, suffused with gold, 

In sunset, scarlet strands, 
Omnipotence and planets great controlled, 
And there I know that Justice lies 

In Thine almighty hands. 

I see within the souls of friends, 

In smiles that point the eyes above, 

The gentle spirit of the Christ that sends 

New hopes and joys to hearts 

And there I know that Thou art Love. 

I praise Thee, Father, for the sun and shade ; 

For judgments and for mercies sweet, for breath 
Of living that of pain and joy is made, 
And knowing Thou art Just and Love 

I praise Thee, Father, e'en for death. 



53 



A TRIBUTE 

You talk about your roses 'side your garden wall, 

You talk about your pansy bed, 
An' of them yellow tiger lilies tall 

An' them geraniums bright an' red. 
Well, all of these, fer beauty meant, 
Are noted fer their fragrant scent; 
But shore's you're born out where I hoes, 

Though they fer smell ain't half so sweet, 
I find along them tiresome rows 

Them cotton blooms is hard ter beat. 



54 



THERE AIN'T NO USE 

There ain't no use in workin' so, 

There's nothin' new ter start, 
Fer what you do you're shore ter know 

Some other guy's done played that part. 
Now, see, I might 've been a Newton 

An' seen a' apple fall, 
Or else I might 've tuck ter flutin' 

An' been a Mozart fer you all. 
An' then, I tell you what is true, 

I might 've done far wors', 
I bet I'd been a Shakespeare too, 

If I'd 've got here firs'. 



55 



HUMAN NATURE 

Jim Brown has got a brandnew Ford ; 

He rides ter work both night an' day, 
An' passes by a-rattlin' like a gourd, 

But never sees nobody on the way. 
Now Jim an' me works side by side, 
An' does look like he'd let a feller ride. 

Very well, jist wait some day; I hope it's hot, 

An' his ole Ford is out o' fix, 
An' them two bunions what he's got 

Is 'pearin' like the same as six; 
I'll pass 'im by in my Packard car 
A-lookin' off, away off far ! 



56 



A-LISTENIN' IN THE STILL 

I sets alone o' nights a-listenin' 

Ter the music 'cross the way ; 
While stars above are softly glistenin' 

An' the light fades out o' day. 
The little church is lit an' glowin' 

Fer they're meetin' on the hill, 
An' where the pine-weighed breeze is blowin' 

I'm a-listenin' in the still. 

The mellow chords o' voices blendin' 

Ter the music of them good ole songs, 
An' then the parson's pray'r up-sendin' 

Ter the Lord fer all our sinful wrongs. 
An' next he settles down ter preachin' 

Till it's soft but fer the night bird's trill; 
An' I'm a-thinkin' of the Master's teachin' 

While a-listenin' in the still. 



57 



AMERICA AWAKES TO ARMS 

America awakes to arms ! To arms ! 

From out her luxury and treasure charms, 

From out her boundless wealth and pleasured ease 

Awakes to war; disrobing such as these 

Calls back her chivalry, her chasteness old, 

Which in their mighty words the past unfold 

And show her nation once a winding line 

With musket and knapsack to Brandywine, 

To Yorktown, marching, shouting as they went 

While Heaven to their spirits courage lent; 

Which in their mighty words her hearts bestir. 

The silver voices of her bugles spur 

Her sleeping souls to song and love and deed 

That sacrifice. And willingly to bleed 

She hears the even tramp of fearless feet 

That march on foreign soil to her drum-beat. 

She sees the flower of her manhood leave 

Her shores ; and hears the sobs of those that grieve 

The soldier's parting and the Mother pray'rs 

For son, the Mother, who is proud and bears 

The hardest part in cruelties of war, 

Makes home for him a place worth fighting for. 

She sees the father bend with tearful eyes 

Above the cradle where the baby lies. 

She sees the anxious wife with proud face white 

Watch, waving, till he turns beyond her sight. 

She sees the boist'rous gathered crowd that cheers 

The parting hearts of sadness mixed with fears. 

58 



Her nation heeds Humanity's war-call 
And she enlists her best, enlists her all. 
From out her luxury and treasure charms, 
America awakes to arms ! To arms ! 



59 



A PRAYER 

I would, My Father God, do more than others, 

More peaceable, more gentle be ; 
I would reflect the glories of Thy Nature 

More ably, that have come to me. 
I would more often sing the joy of living, 

More cheerful be in weary hours, 
More charitable, considerate, and friendly, 

A planter be of wayside flowers. 
I would more zealous look for good in all things, 

In man, in woodland, hill and glen; 
Oh make me, Father God, more faithful, patient, 

More useful to my fellowmen. 



60 



A WISH 

The purest gold and diamonds bright 
With rubies, pearls, and sapphires white, 

A necklace, ring, or pin ; 
The softest silk, a dainty waist, 
A coat of fur, kid-boots high-laced, 

A dress chiffon and thin — 
All this, of course, is fine, 
I wish it all were thine. 

But more, Sweetheart, my wish to-day, 
Still more for thee the pray'r I pray. 

May God in tend'rest love 
Give you from Heav'n the sweetest song 
And flowers your whole life long, 

Give you where'er you rove 
The love of friends, a great success 
With mirth, good health, and happiness. 



61 



IF 



If I were just a little star 

A-twinklin' in the night, 
I'd pick a place just where you are 

And there I'd shed my light. 
I'd shine so strong the whole night long! 

I'd love you, oh so tight ! 

If I were just a little breeze 

A-tossin' to and fro, 
O'er meadows green through woodland trees 

My little sail would blow; 
Around I'd wheel, a kiss I'd steal, 

And then I'd love you so ! 

If I were just a little cloud 

Up in the sky adrif, 
I wouldn't mind the teasin' crowd, 

I wouldn't care a riff ! 
I'd pull apart and drop my heart — 

Aw, if! Confound it, IF! 



62 



MISS NANCY'S FLOWER GARDEN 

In Miss Nancy's garden you'll find 

Flowers most of every kind, 

Some quite tiny, quaint, and small, 

Others graceful, slender, tall. 

Roses, pinks, and violets there, 

And narcissus white, a primrose fair, 

And jonquils bright as purest gold, 

A sunflower toppling, bent, and old. 

Some are strong and others frail; 

Some hold true while others fail ; 

But, if to any there should repose 

In either poppy, pansy, rose, 

Some unfathomed mystery, 

Some unheard-of history, 

In the flowers Miss Nancy tends, 

What you've complained 

Is here explained, 

Her garden represents her friends. 



63 



YOU 

Sometimes you seem almost divine, 
Your soul's so big, so deep, so wide ; 

Your heart's so gentle, true, and fine 
That when with you I sit beside, 

It almost seems to be 

That heav'n o'erran its chosen span 

And dropped you down to me. 

Sometimes you seem so human, girl, 
You know just how I feel and see, 

Just how I meet and treat the world 
And how in turn the world treats me. 

And yet it seems not true, 

That earth so gruff is big enough 

To hold a girl like you. 

But all the time, my Blue-Eyed Dear, 
My little soul's admiring love 

Would reach afar to bring you near, 
Would cage high heaven's fairest dove, 

Would seize your love so true ; 

And then in praise a heart upraise 

To thank Great God for you. 



64 



HERS 

Beneath the April's tender green, where Little 
Creek with singing, frolics through, 
And Easter lilies faintly pink give fragrance to a 
morning world; 

They played at games that children play and hum- 
med the songs their grammar-school days 
knew, 
While dreams, like fireflies of a country summer 
night, about them whirled; 

And in the woodland's quiet heart she called him 
Hers. 

Somewhere in "Flanders Fields" beneath the quiet 

stars of April's gentle skies, 
A broken cross of wood now marks the mound of 

that heroic sacred sod; 
A fighter's body, youthful, fearless, shrouded in its 

last long sleep, there lies, 
While far beyond the April's pink of worlds anew, 

a soul awaits with God 
Till soon its mate, more beautiful, again shall call 

it Hers. 



65 



JUST A-MISSIN' YOU 

When wind and rain of springtime days 

Make all the world a dampy blue, 
And when the mist of morning haze 

Takes on a sort of blackened hue, 
And drippy weather makes the flow'rs 

To droop and bend and die 
And sends the birds to other bow'rs 

Where sunny pleasant pastures lie; 
'Tis then I miss your winsome smile 

That tells me all within is clear, 
That counts to set me singing, while 

The day outside is bleak and drear. 

'Tis then I miss a blue-eyed girl, 

Whose heart just laughs and loves and sings 
In spite of all the outside worl' 

That chills and kills the flow'ring things; 
Whose soul in cheering seems to say: 

"Within, my dear, the hearthfires glow! 
Just look the beauty of the day! 

Within the heart the flowers blow! 
The birds make music there for you, 

In jolly rhythmic laughter sing, 
And there with all the flowers too 

Just say, 'Be glad 'tis spring ! 'Tis spring !' " 



66 



So then you see, Miss Lady Dear, 

I'm just a-missin' awful much 
Your smile, your love, your cheer, 

Your very self — perhaps your touch; 
For when outside it's windy bleak 

And cold and wet and dreary too, 
'Tis then, in fashion surely meek, 

I'm just a-missin', missin' you. 



C7 



A SONG 

Our Father God our hearts upraise 

To Thee in grateful song, 
For all Thy blessings, Lord, we praise 

Thee in our humble throng. 
For Christ and country go we forth 

To war, humanity to save; 
And 'neath the Banner of the Cross 

Our service flag would ever wave. 

Accept, O Father God, we pray, 

Thy praise we humbly sing ; 
Receive the offerings made each day, 

The service now we bring. 
Defend the church, protect the land, 

Give strength humanity to save; 
And 'neath the Banner of the Cross 

Let e'er our flag of service wave. 



68 



A WINTER'S TWILIGHT 

I see the blowing hair of shining pines 

Sleek and black against the heaven's naked breast, 
Where the tree-walled roadway still and lonely winds 

In a smiling comfort toward the gray-pink west, 
And the winter moon that flickers in between 
The dark and fragile net-work screen. 

I hear the rumbling teams, the hoofs that beat 

In a brisky travel as they homeward go ; 
And I see through thrown-back curtains 'cross the 
street 
Homes alight with burning logs aglow, 
While sweet coffee scents the chilly breeze 
That tosses in the shining trees ; 

For 'tis twilight and December 
Down in Carolina now. 



69 



CONTENTMENT 

It's not to win the game I wish, 
Nor yet to grasp the golden prize ; 

It's not high favor from brave men, 
Nor yet great honor from the wise. 

Some others here at this may strike, 

It's just the playing that I like. 

It's not to win the race I wish, 
Nor yet the victor's cup to gain ; 

It's not approval from the crowd, 
Nor yet loud praises for my pain. 

All this some others here may dike, 

It's just the racing that I like. 

So let me play the game again 
And keep on playing still, 

And let me run the race again 
And keep on running till 

I'm weary of the ceaseless hike; 

It's just the doing that I like. 



70 



I LOVE THE WORLD 

I love the world, the jolly world, that loves and 

hates, that laughs and wars, 
I love the world, the restless world, in spite of all its 

sin and scars; 
For every year it buds again when spring slips back, 
And fragrantly it flowers each of life's most weary 

ways; 
While during seasons drear through snows we trace 

the track 
The wild-game makes, and booty loads our happy 

hunting days. 
Oh, yes, I love the world, the jolly, restless world! 



71 



TO YOU 

There is a friendly fairy, 

So the story goes, 
That dwells within the heart 

Of every Sandhill rose; 
And this friendly fairy 

Holds within her sway 
A band of little elves 

Who readily obey. 
I ask the friendly fairy 

Bid a little elf 
Take love and cheer to you, my dear, 

As I cannot go myself. 



THE END 



72 



